


A Mother Has No Choice

by gaytriangle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Sansa Stark, F/M, Gen, Joffrey is his own warning, Kid Fic, Queen Sansa, by technicality, only at the start tho dw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 02:54:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19242370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaytriangle/pseuds/gaytriangle
Summary: “The more people you love, the weaker you are. You'll do things for them that you know you shouldn't do. You'll act the fool to make them happy, to keep them safe. Love no one but your children; on that front a mother has no choice”Sansa marries Joffrey shortly before the Battle of the Blackwater. She has his children. She takes his crown.





	A Mother Has No Choice

She had dreamed of a wedding like this, that’s what hurt the most. The man at her side had a crown on his brow, and her wedding dress cost more silver than the North made in a month. And yet... the only person here that loved her, even just liked her, didn’t hate her, was her grooms sister in law, and she’d willingly kill Sansa to take the circlet digging into her skull. Her husband ripped the wolf cloak from her shoulders with a sneer, and she returned her most demure smile. Her body didn’t shake, not like it had this morning in the mirror or that horrid day, and outside this very Sept. Not like it would later that moon, when Stannis laid siege to the city and she truly believed she would die. 

No one here loved Sansa, and she loved them neither. And yet she was the queen. 

~

Sansa didn’t remember her wedding night. Her gooduncle had plied her with wine, thankfully, although by her husbands sneer and her aching bruises, she was certain her duty had been done. Joffrey amused himself with whores and hunts, as days wound away into months. Still, no matter how much pain it must have been, it was less than this. 

“One final push, Lady Sansa,” said Pycelle. Sansa was greeted to the sudden, beautiful sound of someone else’s screaming. A moment later, it was joined with a second voice. Pycelle dithered about and Sansa grit her teeth. After an eternity, he said, “twins, milady. A little Prince and Princess.”

Sansa noted the disrespect and added Pycelle to her list of Lannister cronies. Even that was forgotten, though, once she took them into her arms. There, on her son, was blonde hair, but a Northern slant to his nose and his grandfathers eyes. Her daughter had Cersei’s bone structure, yes, but she had a crop of north dark curls, and Tully crystals peering up from her bleery face. ‘Eddard,’ she thought. ‘Eddard and Minisa.’

A knock at the door, and Sansa returned to reality. Margaery Tyrell swept inside, without a single curl out of place. Sansa held no envy of that sort of beauty, not anymore. Margaery smiled and perched on the end of the bed. The single maid she had brought with her trailer around the edges of the room, running her hands over the Lannister filigree in a manner too practised to be casual. “Sansa, they’re beautiful.”

“Thank you. They’re healthy, but I’m afraid I’m not quite recovered enough for politics yet,” replied Sansa, without even bite on her tone. “Why did you visit?”

“Sansa,” said Margaery, quietly, after dismissing to the maid, who finished clearing the room of listening devices and slipped out. “Do you want your children to grow up under their fathers influence?”

“No,” she said, without a moments pause. 

(The next night, an announcement is made, celebrating the birth of Crown Prince Orys Baratheon and Princess Cassana Baratheon. 

The day after, a jealous whore is arrested for the murder of King Joffrey.)

~

Sansa Stark is still weak and pale when she wakes up that third morning. She summons a maid with a shaking voice and asks that Cassana and Orys be dressed in their house colours. The girl moves for the pile of red gowns automatically, so Sansa puts a bite into her tone. “Black and gold, I believe, are the colours of my sons crown, are they not?”

The maids scurry, after that. It isn’t long before Sansa is laced into a corset and a gown. Black lace, of course, but with shocks of gold on the pleating and a necklace shaped like lions (or maybe even wolves) teeth in gold around her neck. She summons her circlet, too, for the first time nine months. There is no tremor in her step when she walks into the throne room, holding Orys in her arms as Margaery carries Cassana, a half step behind on her right. 

“You!” hisses Cersei, as Sansa continues her steady gait towards the throne. The Dowager Queen twice over raises herself off the Iron Throne she has no right to and throws herself at Sansa. Hear me roar indeed. “You’re the little whore that killed the king!”

Sansa looks past Cersei to the kingsguard. Ser Preston Greenfield - a Westerlander by birth, but fair. “Ser Preston, was the former Kings killer not apprehended this morning?”

Ser Preston fiddled with the hilt of his sword, looking between the two Queens, one a picture of stability holding the continuation of a dynasty, and one every inch a rabid lion. “Yes, m’lady.”

“Liar!” roared Cersei. Sansa was beginning to become woozy, but she couldn’t afford to show weakness. Margaery stepped up behind her, giving her something to lean on if she needed, but she needed strength. The court needed strength. “Ser Preston, escort the Lady Cersei to her chambers. I believe her to be mad with grief.”

“I am the queen!” Cersei made to rush for Sansa, and she had a single moment where she thought that it was all over. Orys began to stir, and she adjusted her grip on him with a smile. “This is the King, Cersei. I am the Queen Mother. You...” Sansa leaned forward, dizzy, but manage to murmur in the blondes ear none the less. “You’re nothing.”

Ser Preston escorted the raving lioness away, then, and Sansa climbed the dais slowly. She prayed that it looked stately, instead of exhausted. She smoothed out her skirts and sat Orys on her knee. Margaery sat on Cersei’s usual chair beside the throne, Cassana tranquil in her arms. She surveyed the room. There was Lord Baelish, smirking, and Lord Varys, expressionless as always. Lord Tywin wasn’t present, but Lord Tyrion was, and he looked deeply amused. Most of the lords and ladies simply looked confused. She could work with that. “Kneel,” she declared. “Kneel for your King.”

~

It is never that easy. First, she puts down on paper the deal she fought with Margaery: Harrenhal for Tommen, and a Tyrell of Sansas choice for Orys. She names Tyrion her hand of the king, and banishes Cersei back West after Joffreys funeral. A deal with Tywin comes to fruition a year later, when for the twins nameday tourney, Sansa opens all seven kingsguard places to the best knights in the realm. Only Ser Preston Greenfield retains his place, and with the release of Ser Jaime from his vows, she earns the begrudging loyalty of Tywin. Her new lord commander is her Uncle Blackfish, the first family member she has seen in too many moons, but not the last. Robb visits to discuss the terms of Northern Independence, and his firstborn son is betrothed to Cassana. 

From then, things come in drips and floods; she quietly sends the head of Gregor Clegane to Dorne, and is rewarded with a well of letters from her goodsister. She brings Shireen to Kings Landing as a hostage after the defeat of her father by a healthy and united army of the six kingdoms, and when the time comes, names her the Lady Paramount of the Stormlands. Cassana grows up beautiful and cunning, almost like her grandmother if not for a touch of her mother’s kindness. Orys grows up, too, to be clever and strong. On their twelfth nameday, Sansa whispers the names they were born with, and Orys takes to Eddard like he was born to continue the legacy of the Quiet Wolf. Neither even vaguely resembles their father. 

Daenerys Targaryen joins the Northern and Southron armies in the fight for the Dawn, and is rewarded with Dragonstone for her trouble. She attempts to protest, to raze Kings Landing, and has her final child shot down by scorpion bolts and is banished back to Mereen in disgrace. Sansa had started building them almost immediately after Varys warned her of the dragons. She sees Theon Greyjoy as a ward of the crown and Asha Greyjoy Lady of the Iron Islands after the Second Greyjoy Rebellion. She sees Jon Snow swear himself Kingsguard after discovering his heritage and losing his aunt. She sees survival. 

Sansa lives to see Eddard Orys Baratheon crowned in the South while Cassana rules the North in the name of her often absent husband, and lives to see both provide her with copious grandchildren. 

The Baratheons rule the six kingdoms for another eight hundred years.

**Author's Note:**

> If people like this, I’ll write some of those scenes I mention in the bottom summary - this whole fic just hit me like lightning.


End file.
